


What If Tonight Is The Night

by lilfinch



Category: Firebringer - Team StarKid
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, College AU, Dom and Sub undertones, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Fingering, Oral, Smut, ive been working on this for way too long, low key kinky ngl, not even enemies to friends to lovers just straight up enemies to lovers, not exactly pwp but getting there tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-02-07 04:55:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21452347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilfinch/pseuds/lilfinch
Summary: Zazzalil and Jemilla hate each other.They’ve always hated each other. They’ve always fought, they’ve always argued, and that could never and would never change.Right?
Relationships: Jemilla/Zazzalil (Firebringer)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 89





	What If Tonight Is The Night

**Author's Note:**

> I went and looked at when I’d started this and it said October 8th and I went :O

They’d known each other since seventh grade.

In seventh grade, they’d been in the same science class. 

They sat together. They didn’t really talk, but sometimes, when Zazzalil nodded off, Jemilla would kick her foot to jolt her awake. Jemilla thought she was doing a good thing, Zazzalil would just be annoyed. And when Zazzalil didn’t thank Jemilla, she would become annoyed, too. They would sit in frustrated silence.

One time in February, Jemilla let Zazzalil borrow her favorite pencil. Zazzalil never gave it back.

It was from this moment on that Jemilla didn’t like Zazzalil.

In eighth grade, they had two classes together. PE and English. 

Zazzalil gave Jemilla an extra folder she miraculously had on the first day of school and made her laugh with a joke about their teacher. On the third day of PE, Zazzalil accidentally pegged Jemilla in the face with a dodgeball. 

Suddenly, Jemilla remembered that she didn’t like Zazzalil.

In ninth grade, their friend groups became mildly intertwined with the arrival of two godlike people by the name of Clark and Claire. This was when things got complicated. Jemilla began to date Clark. Zazzalil was jealous. Of Jemilla, of course; Clark was an Adonis. 

They got into their first real fight in March. Neither could remember what about, but it left a mark on their friend group nonetheless.

It was fine, Clark and Claire moved away in tenth grade. Unfortunately, their friend groups merged fully over the summer, and Zazzalil and Jemilla were forced to cooperate throughout the year. They didn’t. They argued at any given moment. 

Also in tenth grade, they had a whopping four classes together. Honors World Studies, Geometry, Algebra II, and Art Studio II.

Zazzalil doubled up with Geometry and Algebra II just to spite Jemilla. Much to Jemilla’s reprieve, she was infuriatingly good at math.

Jemilla did Art Studio II for the credit, and found out she was not too terrible at ceramics. She and Zazzalil did most of their arguing in Art, much to the reprieve of the friends they shared the class with. On the day before their ceramic mugs were due, Zazzalil was missing, and, with heavy reluctance, Jemilla put the final glaze on Zazzalil’s mug and gave it to their teacher.

She insisted to her friends that it was out of exasperation, but it wasn’t like Zazzalil noticed anyway. There was no need for Jemilla to make an excuse and convince herself of it.

In eleventh grade, they were beginning to get used to each other. They still argued, but it was comfortable. Teasing. Light. Something had changed. Underneath the history of thinly veiled dislike, something simmered above a fire of emotion.

It scared Zazzalil. It scared Jemilla.

At the beginning of twelfth grade, they fought again.

A big one this time. Neither could remember what started it, but suddenly they were _ fighting _, and neither wanted to back down. They didn’t have many classes together, just Photography, but by the time midterms rolled around, they had both cooled off.

They didn’t really talk anymore.

And then they were graduating.

There was a party at Schwoopsie’s or S.B.’s or something. Neither could remember. There was alcohol. Jemilla and Zazzalil had both fled the noise to somewhere upstairs, unknowing that the other was climbing the stairs on the opposite side.

They met, they started to argue, but something happened. Whether it was the look in Zazzalil’s eyes, or the way the light made Jemilla’s skin glow, tension broke, and then Jemilla had Zazzalil pressed against a wall, and her lips pressed against hers, and Zazzalil’s tongue was slipping into Jemilla’s mouth.

Zazzalil didn’t really remember a lot of what happened that night. 

But she remembered Jemilla.

So even after that night, when she woke up inexplicably at Keeri’s house in a sweater she wished she didn’t realize was definitely Jemilla’s, the thought of the girl’s fingers tugging her hair and her teeth lightly nipping her neck stuck in her mind, haunting her.

Zazzalil had decided that she’d wait for Jemilla to reach out first. Just in case.

Just in case she didn’t remember, or just in case she regretted it.

And, apparently, one, or both, of these was true, because the next time Zazzalil would see Jemilla would be two years later.

On the opposite end, Jemilla thought she woke up still at Schwoopsie’s house, or S.B.’s, or wherever the hell she was. One quick glance around told her that, in fact, neither of these were true, and that she was actually at Keeri’s. With Zazzalil curled against her side, fast asleep.

Oh shit.

Jemilla began to panic, because it felt like someone had smashed a brick down across her head, and because the memories were starting to resurface. The troubling part was that none of the memories that floated fuzzily around her mind held necessarily bad emotional context.

Jemilla remembered the way Zazzalil moaned into her kisses, remembered the way her skin had felt like fire under her touch, remembered how she smelled like cheap beer and mid-June, and her heart began to speed up in her chest and her face suddenly felt flush.

Jemilla chewed on her lip. Thinking hurt, but there was so much to think about. Everything began to click into place. Had she ever really hated Zazzalil? Had all those years been wasted on petty bickering? And, most importantly, what to do now?

Jemilla was snapped back to attention when Zazzalil shivered and pulled herself closer to Jemilla. They were in what seemed to be one of Keeri’s guest bedrooms.

She sighed, and slowly slipped out of the bed. Zazzalil was a heavy sleeper, but still unintelligibly complained in sleepy delirium at the lack of warmth. So, without a second thought, Jemilla peeled off her sweater and placed it in Zazzalil’s hands as they swished across the mattress, blindly reaching for the source of warmth that seemed to have disappeared.

Jemilla wouldn’t be there when Zazzalil sleepily tugged the sweater over her head a little later.

No, instead, Jemilla left a note. It read:

_ Text me. _

_ -J _

Jemilla also wouldn’t be there when Zazzalil almost fell out of bed when she woke up an hour later, knocking the note off of the covers and causing it to slide under the bed.

Jemilla wouldn’t see Zazzalil for another two years.

They went to colleges more or less on opposite sides of the country. Zazzalil studied for a degree in engineering, and Jemilla took up environmental studies. They crossed each other’s thoughts often, whether they realized it or not. Of course, neither texted the other. It would be too embarrassing, too risky. 

They would both be walking on eggshells without even realizing that, no, they wouldn’t have walked on eggshells for anyone else. 

But this was them.

And they were stupid.

~

“I can’t believe it’s been two years,” Keeri said, exasperated as she flopped down onto Zazzalil’s bed.

Zazzalil grinned as she stuffed clothes from her suitcase into her drawers, “two years and I still think you’re all the biggest group of losers I’ve ever met.”

“Not even college gave you a worse group of losers?”

Zazzalil shut the drawer and turned around, fanning her face with the collar of her shirt. “Nope. You guys truly suck.”

She and Keeri looked at each other, grinning, before Keeri let out a snort and enveloped her friend in a giant hug.

“I’ve missed you, Zazz,” she said. Zazzalil grinned.

“I’ve only been an hour away.”

“An hour too far!” Was the complained response, to which Zazzalil chuckled and rolled her eyes. Keeri pulled back, grasping Zazzalil’s shoulders. “We’re meeting the gang tonight at Schwoopsie’s.”

A frown tugged at her lips. “I thought it would just be a movie night.”

Keeri rolled her eyes, “of course it wouldn’t be a movie night. This is the first night that everybody is back for winter break, we need to celebrate!”

“Everybody?”

“Yes, everybody, we-” Keeri paused, eyeing Zazzalil suspiciously. Then she sighed, “you’re not still worried about Jemilla, are you?”

Zazzalil looked at the ground. It was at this point that guilt gnawed at her stomach. She had not told Keeri, her best friend, about what had happened that night at the graduation party.

Keeri let out a breathy groan, “you’d think that now you’re pretty much an adult you’d have matured and won’t argue with your childhood archnemesis anymore.”

“We’ll just have to see then, won’t we?” 

“Zazzalil.” Keeri grabbed her friends shoulders and gave her a light shake. “Do. Not. Fight. With. Her.” Zazzalil scoffed and rolled her eyes, but Keeri shook her once more. “Come on, Zazz. It’s just petty by now.”

“When was it not petty?” At the look in Keeri’s eyes, Zazzalil sighed. “Fine. I’ll try not to fight with her.”

Keeri smiled and kissed Zazz on the cheek. “You’re the best!” 

Zazzalil looked at the ground, sifting through the fuzzy memories from that night. A pang shot through her chest. Jemilla hadn’t texted. Jemilla hadn’t texted. Jemilla hadn’t texted. That night had meant nothing, and would continue to mean nothing. Zazzalil’s jaw clenched and unclenched. Then why was it still so prominent in her mind?

“Hey? Zazz?”

Zazzalil’s head snapped up, and she blinked at the sight of Keeri eyeing her questioningly.

“Earth to Zazzalil. You good?”

She blinked again, and smiled warily. “Yeah. Just fine. Let’s get ready.”

~

She was staring at her.

She was trying not to make it obvious, but Zazzalil was definitely staring.

Jemilla’s fingers tapped nervously against the rim of her solo cup as she willed herself not to look up. Schwoopsie was talking her ear off beside her, Jemilla had very specifically sought her out when she looked across the room and saw Zazzalil watching her with wide eyes, knowing full well that Schwoopsie could talk for hours if she was allowed.

Tiblyn and Ducker had both joined in on the conversation at some point. Jemilla was zoned out, memories pushing and shoving in her mind. She wanted to go home. 

Thankfully, the party had begun to dwindle. Schwoopsie has invited more people than she had realized, but soon they said their goodbyes, got Ubers, and it was almost down to the core group. Which, unfortunately, meant that more of the core group were joining the discussion between Schwoopsie, Tiblyn, and Ducker, and it was inevitable that Zazzalil joined sooner or later.

Jemilla kept her gaze trained on the door. Two more people left, Emberly joined the group. Grunt said goodbye to three more and joined his girlfriend, closely followed by S.B. They were all halfway to drunk, a few all the way there, and Jemilla made sure to interject with her sparse opinions and acknowledgment so that nobody questioned her complete lack of attention to the conversation. 

When Jemilla looked up, Zazzalil was four feet away from her. Her light brown eyes glowed in the gentle light of Schwoopsie’s living room and Jemilla felt her heart begin to throb to an aching rhythm.

She needed something, anything, to get out of this. Jemilla said the first words that formed on her tongue. “Why don’t we play a game?”

This ground the conversation to an abrupt halt, and it was at this point that Jemilla realized with a tinge of embarrassment that the statement had come out of nowhere. However, conversation immediately picked back up with discussion about what game to play, and Jemilla kept her gaze focused on her drink and tried to ignore the feeling of Zazzalil’s gaze burning into her skin.

That night.

Jemilla’s face burned at the thought of it. It was blurred, but god she remembered. Remembered how Zazzalil had moved like fire against her. Remembered her panting breath, hot against her ear. A cool shiver ran down her spine. Jemilla had yet to have a makeout experience that came even close to rivaling that night, even if that was all that they had done. After, they had found themselves at Keeri’s, made out on her guest bed, and had promptly fallen asleep, the exhaustion of an entire four years and four years to come crashing down on them.

Jemilla took a sip of her drink, suddenly feeling lightheaded. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, concentrating on the feeling of the liquid sliding down her throat, trying to center herself.

When she opened her eyes, she was sitting cross-legged on the floor. Jemilla blinked. Oh shit. She had been too busy focusing on trying to focus that she hadn’t realized that the group had moved to the floor. Was this part of whatever game they had decided to play?

Jemilla’s gaze found the empty beer bottle that lay in the center of the circle, and her heart twisted. Wait. Her gaze trailed up, and, sure enough, Zazzalil was watching her with focused intensity. She blinked and quickly looked away at the sight of Jemilla meeting her gaze.

“You start, Zazz!”

Jemilla looked over at Keeri, blinking. Zazzalil cleared her throat and reached for the glass bottle, trying quite intently not to catch Jemilla’s eye. She spun it. It went around, spinning wildly and clattering gently against the hardwood floor.

The bottle began to slow down. Jemilla felt herself become hot and she raised her cup to her lips once more.

The bottle stopped.

Jemilla choked on her drink.

Oh.

Fuck.

~

They didn’t talk.

Zazzalil was glad that it was dark in Schwoopsie’s closet, because her face burned so hot it almost hurt. She stared at her feet, her back against the wall and arms crossed over her chest.

They waited.

Zazzalil’s toes tapped softly in her shoes and she let out a shaky breath.

Zazzalil looked up, her eyes wide, and opened her mouth to speak. The moment she did, Jemilla leaned forward rapidly, and the next thing Zazzalil knew, they were kissing. Jemilla’s lips pressed into hers, her chin jutting forward. Zazzalil’s breath caught in her throat and she blinked in surprise, but soon found herself sinking forward, almost melting into Jemilla.

There was an unfamiliar familiarity about her, about this. In an instant, warmth flooded Zazzalil’s mind, the blur of memories of that night beginning to take shape, to clear. She still tasted like cheap alcohol and spearmint and something fuzzy and golden.

The moment ended quickly, however, when Jemilla pulled back and sent Zazzalil keening forward, blissfully out of breath.

“I’m sorry,” Jemilla said quickly. She sounded like she was in pain. “I’m sorry I just-”

Zazzalil moved forward quickly and fell softly into Jemilla. Her hands slid up to the back of Jemilla’s neck as she pulled her down. She heard her inhale sharply, but they kissed, and soon fell into a soft, gentle rhythm. 

Jemilla’s hands had fallen down to Zazzalil’s hips and she arched into her with hot want and needy softness.

Jemilla pulled back slowly with one long exhale, her eyes fluttering open in the thick darkness. Zazzalil bit her lip, gaze pouring into Jemilla’s.

“You remember?” Zazzalil asked. She wasn’t even sure if she had spoken, blood pounded harshly in her eyes and the sound of her heartbeat throbbing in her ribs overtook her senses. 

“Of course,” Jemilla whispered back, her hands sliding up Zazzalil’s back and resting at her neck.

“Why didn’t you text?”

Jemilla’s brows furrowed. “I left a note. I was waiting for you.”

“You what now.”

They stared at each other, pieces starting to slide into place. 

“You’re shitting me,” was the only thing Zazzalil whispered as the scene of what probably happened rolled in her mind. She had lost the note, it fell under the bed, got lost in the sheets, something, and she, in all her gay shyness, had decided not to text first. 

Was it the courteous thing to do? Probably.

But that was two years wasted, on top of their entire early friendship. Something sparked in the back of Zazzalil’s mind. At the unfortunate presence of wasted time, the only thing to do was to make it back up. 

And make it up was something she fully intended on doing.

This seemed to be an idea that Jemilla shared, for when she met Zazzalil’s lips once more it was with a fervor and intense harshness that shocked her. Jemilla surged forward, pushing Zazzalil backwards, and when her back hit the wall, a whispery moan escaped her lips.

Zazzalil didn’t know what to focus on. Jemilla tasted like something that could only be described as golden and smelled like December. She could hear voices coming from outside the closet, but they were foggy and disoriented, clashing against the feeling of Jemilla’s fingertips as they grazed against the skin on her back.

“Jemilla,” Zazzalil whispered, her voice low and strained as Jemilla’s lips left hers and returned on her neck. She hummed in response, and when Zazzalil opened her mouth to reply, all words left her mind at the feeling of teeth closing gently around the soft spot on her neck.

“W-Wait,” she murmured, face hot as Jemilla paused and lifted her head, her fingers twining themselves in the curls at the nape of Zazzalil’s neck. “I think that our time is almost up.”

A smirk tugged at Jemilla’s lips. “You want to keep this a secret?”

“Just for a little longer… is that alright?”

Jemilla pressed a soft kiss to Zazzalil’s lips, but the fingers in her hair tugged sharply and her breath caught in her throat.

“Of course,” she said, yet the husky lightness of her tone held the thought of promises that sent a cold shiver down her spine.

They stepped apart, Jemilla’s fingertips brushing against Zazzalil’s waist as she backed up.

It was at this moment that the closet door burst open.

“Oh thank god,” Keeri said, heaving a sigh of relief, “we heard no screaming and a few lights thumps. We thought one of you was murdering the other.”

“We were,” Jemilla paused, smirking as she glanced at a mildly disheveled Zazzalil, who was taking her hair out of its ponytail to cover up the bruise forming on her neck, “making up. For lost time.”

Surprise flickered across Keeri’s face and she looked behind her shoulder at the equally surprised faces of the group gathered behind them. 

“Oh! Huh. Alright… then…”

There was a pause and Zazzalil rolled her eyes at the smirk still tugging at Jemilla’s lips. 

“Who’s next?”

~

Zazzalil fidgeted on the front porch, continuously bringing out her phone, checking the text from Jemilla, and putting it back in her pocket, only to find herself suddenly uncertain and repeating the process. It read:

_ My place. 7:30. Don’t eat, dinner’s on me. _

_ -J _

Zazzalil took a deep breath and reached up, exhaling slowly before stiffening and finally ringing the doorbell. The moment she did, the front door whipped open and Zazzalil yelped, taking quick steps backwards.

“Ah! Shit! Jemilla, I- that was fast, sorry, I wasn’t expecting-”

Jemilla snickered, waving her hand dismissively through the air, “sorry to startle you. I was waiting for you to ring the doorbell. You’ve been standing outside for three minutes.”

Zazzalil blinked and felt her face grow hot as she stumbled over her words. Jemilla cut her off again, stepping to the side and motioning for Zazzalil to step in the house. “Come in. You must be freezing.”

Zazzalil nodded, not trusting herself with words, and followed Jemilla inside as she spoke.

“I haven’t ordered pizza yet. I know what toppings you like but I didn’t know if you would show. Alright that’s a lie, I knew you’d come, I just procrastinated-”

Zazzalil grabbed Jemilla’s wrist suddenly, cutting her off and quickly spinning her around. Jemilla opened her mouth to speak, surprise widening her eyes, but she was interrupted when Zazzalil rose onto the balls of her feet and pressed a hard kiss to her mouth.

Jemilla blinked once before letting her eyes flutter shut, but Zazzalil broke the kiss quickly.

“What was that for?” The taller girl muttered, grinning mischievously. “I wouldn’t have guessed you were a straight to it kind of girl.”

Zazzalil’s face grew hot once more, causing Jemilla’s grin to widen, and she looked down at the floor between them.

“I’m not, I just- I just wanted to make sure that this is… real.”

Jemilla blinked in surprise, her almond gaze flicking around Zazzalil’s face for a brief moment before she took the smaller girl’s face in her hands and kissed her gently.

“I think,” she murmured, “that everything else has been not real.” Jemilla took Zazzalil’s hands in hers, and let her forehead fall down so that it rested on hers, “I think that this has been as real as we’ve ever been. With each other.”

Zazzalil’s jaw clenched, and her chin dropped down. “Years. Years and years and years. Of just… fighting.”

Jemilla sighted lightly, letting her fingertips linger on the palms of Zazzalil’s hands. She curled their fingers together, unsure if the reassurance showed in the simple movements. She had no words to combat Zazzalil’s. She was right. It all made sense now looking back, a confusing storm of negative emotions whirling around simple passion and complex want.

Instead of responding with words, Jemilla pressed a hard kiss on Zazzalil’s lips, desperately hoping it conveyed her remorse, her apology, and her affection. Zazzalil, whether she understood or not, reciprocated, and let her hands raised to the back of Jemilla’s neck, deepening the kiss with a somber sort of fervor.

A small smile tugged at the corner of Jemilla’s lip at the raw need evidently present in the kiss, and her hands slid down to Zazzalil’s waist, pulling her closer with a sharp tug before letting her hands slip up and under her shirt, fingertips lightly grazing hot skin.

“Jemilla,” Zazzalil breathed, her voice shaky and hushed.

Jemilla pulled back, her head tilted slightly to the side and dark gaze dragging reluctantly from Zazzalil’s lips to meet her eyes. She froze.

“Wait,” a cat-like smile spread on Jemilla’s lips, “you’re wearing my sweater.”

Zazzalil blinked, then looked down. She snorted. “This isn’t your s- wait one fucking second.” She looked up, eyes wide, “this _is_ your sweater. Oh.”

“You say that like you forgot where you got it.”

A light blush darkened Zazzalil’s cheeks, and she looked down. “I didn’t, I just… wear it a lot.”

Jemilla raised one eyebrow, “do you?”

“It…” she paused to clear her throat, “it used to smell like you.” Both of Jemilla’s eyebrows shot up and she wrestled down the grin that worked its way on her lips. Zazzalil continued hurriedly before Jemilla could speak. “Oh! I had something for you, before I forget.” 

She stepped back, reaching into her back pocket and producing a… pencil? Jemilla’s head tilted to the side.

“Is it… oh. Oh my god. That’s not…” she took the pencil carefully from Zazzalil, turning it over in her hand. “Is this the pencil 7th grade? The one you stole from me?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say I stole it, I… no I definitely stole it.”

Jemilla shook her head lightly, though the small smile didn’t leave her lips. “Why?”

Zazzalil ground her teeth, her gaze falling to the corner, “at first I thought it would make you agitated but I, I probably didn’t know what to do with my feelings so I took your favorite pencil.”

Jemilla blinked. “I don’t understand.” Zazzalil sighed, exasperated as she let her head fall onto Jemilla’s shoulder.

“And you think I do?”

Jemilla laughed, her hand raising to push Zazzalil’s chin up. Their gazes met. “I _ do _ understand, though, that I intend on making up for every fight,” she kissed Zazzalil’s cheek softly, “every argument,” then her other cheek, “every wrong glance,” her forehead, “every time I ever made you feel anything less than how I want to make you feel right now.” 

Jemilla kissed Zazzalil softly, not letting herself deepen the kiss but letting herself be teasing with her thinly veiled promises. Zazzalil was having none of it. She grabbed the front of Jemilla’s t-shirt, the fabric balling in both fists, and tugged down sharply.

Jemilla smirked into the deepened kiss, amused at the Zazzalil’s insistence as she obliged and pressed forward. 

Zazzalil was like fire. She was blazing against Jemilla, wanting more, needing more, and all consuming. Her tongue flicked against Jemilla’s mouth like a licking flame, and a soft sigh streamed from her nose when Jemilla obliged her entrance.

Her hands went from the front of Jemilla’s shirt to the back of her neck, pulling still, as if scared that Jemilla would fade away. She was explosive. Hot and wild against Jemilla’s mellow and tame. Fire tangling with her water.

But, Jemilla knew that water would always eventually quench fire, no matter how hard or long that fire raged, and she let this fact reveal itself the moment she pulled sharply away from Zazzalil. 

Zazzalil’s eyes widened, and her breath was heavy as it streamed from her slightly opened mouth. She was confused, but Jemilla, ever one to oblige, always one to oblige, hooked her fingers around the belt loops of Zazzalil’s pants, slowly pulling her back. 

Zazzalil’s hands didn’t leave the back of Jemilla’s neck, but, as they walked, her widened eyes became narrowed and she bit her lip, stifling the grin that forced its way to her lips and further stifling the small gasp that rose from her throat when Jemilla swung her around and pushed her flat against the wall.

Zazzalil may have been fire, feral and aflame, but Jemilla was water, quick and powerful, silvery and strong. Her hands pressed into Zazzalil’s waist, steadying her roughly against the wall, and her mouth found Zazzalil’s throat, beckoning forth a low, rumbling moan from it that sent vibrations shivering down her body.

Jemilla’s teeth nipped, and as her hands drew up and under Zazzalil’s (her) sweater, her lips dragged up her neck.

“Don’t focus on the past,” Jemilla murmured into her skin, “I’m not going to let you.” She grasped Zazzalil’s chin, her fingers digging into her jaw as she forced Zazzalil’s gaze to meet hers. Jemilla’s other hand drifted down, slipping under her shirt, the pads of her fingertips ghosting over her stomach.

“A-And how do you plan on doing that?” Zazzalil forced out, though her voice was strained. 

Jemilla smiled, the corner of her lip curling in a way that could only be described as feral. “I’m going to flood your senses,” her fingertips slowly skimmed up Zazzalil’s sides, her shirt raising with Jemilla’s hand, “if you’ll let me.”

There was a pause, and as Jemilla’s gaze bored into hers, she realized that she could not figure out what the look in Zazzalil’s eyes was. Regret? Apprehension? Maybe all, covered in a thin layer of lust?

It didn’t matter. The moment Zazzalil uttered a choked, “_please_,” Jemilla ripped her shirt off of her, her mouth immediately planting itself on her bared collarbone as she chucked the shirt behind her. Zazzalil gasped at the wild motion, her back arching forward until Jemilla’s hands gripped her sides and forced her back against the wall.

“Jemilla,” Zazzalil moaned, to which she hummed in response, “we-we’re in your _ living room_. Between two windows. If anybody saw-”

“Nobody is going to see,” Jemilla whispered hotly into Zazzalil’s skin, smirking when she felt her shiver under her touch, “I have you too up against the wall for them to see, unless there’s a nosy neighbor… but that’s why the lights are off.”

“The lights aren’t-” Jemilla reached over across the window and flicked the light switch. The room sank into darkness, and Jemilla could only see the outline of Zazzalil against the thin moonlight. “Oh god,” Zazzalil muttered, her head falling back against the wall as she bit her lip.

Jemilla smirked, planting open-mouthed kisses down her jaw, then neck, collarbone, pausing only to reach behind Zazzalil and unhook her bra, letting it fall to the floor.

Zazzalil let out a shaky breath as Jemilla’s hands skimmed down her chest, flitting lightly over her nipples, teasing. Promising.

“Fuck,” she whispered, and Jemilla kissed her lightly once more, pulling back and trapping Zazzalil’s bottom lip between her teeth as she slowly tore herself away. 

She returned to kissing down Zazzalil’s body, this time letting herself linger, sucking and nipping, wrangling short gasp after short gasp from her lips and smirking as she began to falter controlling her moans.

Jemilla fingered the waistband of Zazzalil’s pants, grinning smugly as she immediately dropped her hands from Jemilla’s neck to undo the button, murmuring almost unintelligibly, but clearly, definitely, begging. Zazzalil’s pants fell to the ground and Jemilla immediately grabbed her wrists, forcefully pinning them against the wall above her head. 

Jemilla’s stare wandered up and down Zazzalil, admiring, curious, until the smaller girl finally let out a small huff of frustration and tried to pull her wrists out. Her mistake. They were smashed back into the wall, harder, and Zazzalil let out a stuttering gasp at the raw power of the action. Jemilla leaned in, close, her head tilted slightly to the side until their lips almost touched. Her gaze was no longer wandering, and instead was zeroed in on Zazzalil’s eyes, narrowed and icy.

“Be patient,” Jemilla whispered, and the husky lowness of her tone drew a weak whimper from Zazzalil’s lips. “I have all the time in the world, and I’m planning on making this something you won’t ever forget.”

A mixture of a curse and a groan escaped Zazzalil, and she squirmed against Jemilla. “I never even forgot us kissing one night when we were drunk two years ago, what makes you think I could ever forget this?”

Jemilla chuckled lightly, but it was devoid of amusement, dark and chilling. “True,” she acknowledged, “but maybe I just like seeing you like… this.” Zazzalil’s eyes widened comically. “So helpless. So submitting. You forget, we were enemies at one point,” Jemilla leaned close and nipped at Zazzalil’s earlobe, causing her to inhale sharply, “and I like winning.”

Jemilla’s hand slid down Zazzalil’s stomach, the other holding both of her hands together with one, and her breath audibally caught in her throat as Jemilla’s hand sank into her underwear, fingers flitting and rapid but never committing. At least, not until Jemilla’s knuckle brushed against Zazzalil’s clit and she whimpered, her head falling against Jemilla’s shoulder.

Jemilla smiled, though there was nothing nice about it. She grinned with wicked victory, even though she knew full well that she had only just begun. Zazzalil was soaking, and as Jemilla slid her middle finger slowly across her slit, she realized just how badly Zazzalil wanted this. Needed this, even. She was completely at Jemilla’s mercy, her wrists trapped above her head as she began to pant hotly into the soft space between Jemilla’s shoulder and neck.

Just for fun, just to be a tease, Jemilla dipped one finger inside of her before quickly slipping it out, causing Zazzalil to stifle what could have been a moan, what could have been a groan, into Jemilla’s skin. As if she had learned from the last time she was impatient and didn’t want to do anything to risk stalling what she so obviously needed.

Jemilla’s catlike grin became vulpine. Fine.

She twisted her index finger inside Zazzalil against, letting it curl slightly and twitch as she thumbed her clit, her thumb moving in languid, circular motions. Zazzalil’s breathing hitched in her throat, despite how hard she was obviously trying to steady it, and she twitched slightly.

Jemilla let another finger push inside of her, and, giving Zazzalil a moment, she began to slowly thrust, soft, yet growing deeper. In contrast to the infuriatingly slow thrusts of her hand, Jemilla’s thumb on Zazzalil’s clit began to speed, as did her breathing patterns.

Jemilla let go of Zazzalil’s wrists and her arms immediately dropped around her shoulders, her head not lifting up from its spot buried in the crook of Jemilla’s shoulder until her now freed hand busied itself by forcing Zazzalil’s head up so that she could indulge in her gaze.

It was clouded, heavy-lidded, as if her vision was blurred and spotty. Jemilla’s fingers sped up, and Zazzalil groaned before her head fell back against the wall, and Jemilla set her other hand to work on her clit, replacing the job of her thumb. Her hips pushed closer into Zazzalil, pushing her flatter against the wall to act as a brace as the pace of her fingers turned rapid.

Zazzalil balled the fabric of Jemilla’s shirt in her hands, fingertips clawing almost painfully against her back as her leg picked up and wrapped around Jemilla’s waist. An appreciative rumble sounded from Jemilla’s throat at the new angle, and, in reward, she sped up. 

Their foreheads fell forward, touching softly, and Jemilla listened with focused intent to every hitched breath, every almost-moan, every halfway to unintelligible murmuring of her own name to know exactly where she needed to be. One, two, three, _there_. 

Zazzalil couldn’t hold back the strangled cry that wrangled itself from her lips and Jemilla took the hint, pulling back and hitting the same spot over and over again with quick, hard thrusts of her hand until she felt Zazzalil’s entire body convulse and tighten, her breath catching in her throat and a weak whimper stifled against Jemilla’s mouth as she pressed it against hers.

Jemilla still thrusted her hand, slowly, but firmly as Zazzalil rode out her orgasm before going completely limp.

Jemilla smiled. A warm smile this time, and she wiped her hand on her pants before slipping her hands under Zazzalil’s waist and picking her up. Jemilla’s bedroom was on the first floor due to some inconvenient structural planning, but in this moment, as she carried a blushing, grinning Zazzalil into her bedroom and kicked the door shut behind her, she didn’t mind it.

She laid Zazzalil down on her bed, pressing a tender kiss into her lips, hoping that any resent and regret that she had knotted inside of her had flushed itself out. Zazzalil reciprocated, her hands cupping Jemilla’s face as she slowly pulled her down over her.

Jemilla smirked as Zazzalil lead her further back into the bed, she couldn’t help herself, about to make a snarky comment about wanting to go again when Zazzalil suddenly flipped her over, straddling Jemilla’s waist and leaning over her with her palms pressed into the mattress on either side of her head.

Jemilla blinked, taken aback as Zazzalil kissed her jaw.

“That was a neat trick you did there, with the wrists, I must say that I was surprised,” Zazzalil murmured softly into Jemilla’s ear as her hands drew down and lifted her shirt over her head. Jemilla smirked, obliging for a moment. But only for a moment.

“Yeah,” Jemilla whispered, smiling sweetly and looking up at Zazzalil with wide, unassuming eyes. “Want to see me do it again?”

“What-”

Jemilla grabbed Zazzalil’s waist, and, before she could process what was happening, flipped her over so that she was under her with a shocked look and half opened mouth. 

“I’m not done with you just yet,” Jemilla whispered, holding back the cold smile that forced itself to her lips at the apprehensive look in Zazzalil’s widened eyes. Almost nebulously, Zazzalil’s palms lay flat on Jemilla’s stomach, circling up, then over her shoulders, then down her back, unclipping her bra as her hands looped over and around Jemilla’s body, leaving her in nothing but grey sweatpants.

Jemilla watched Zazzalil curiously, noting the careful focus and care she took in Jemilla as she pulled the bra off and leaned up, kissing her collarbone softly. There was something soft and hazy about her movements, and passion knotted Jemilla’s throat.

Her fingertips skimmed Zazzalil’s face, tracing her cheekbones before she lightly kissed her forehead, then her nose, then her mouth, softly, but intensely.

When Jemilla pulled back, they shared a careful smile. Zazzalil opened her mouth, as if she desperately wanted to say something, but the words were lost on her tongue, so Jemilla leaned down and captured her mouth in hers. 

It was a gentle kiss, but when Jemilla pulled back to allow them both a few breaths, she pushed back and the tenderness melted away into an icy hot passion. She broke the kiss, but returned with her mouth on Zazzalil’s neck and tongue running down, leaving a hot, wet trail down her chest.

Down her stomach. Down her navel. Her tongue traced an intricate pattern down Zazzalil’s body, ushering quiet, breathy gasps from her lips.

“You’re so beautiful,” Jemilla whispered, unsure if Zazzalil could hear her, “so perfect. So everything. If I could make you mine…” her tongue licked a broad stripe across her slit and Zazzalil groaned, her muscles twitching, “it would be the greatest honor.” Jemilla took Zazzalil’s legs and hooked them around her shoulders, appreciating the twitchy, convulsing squeezes on her head from her every little move.

Her tongue drew lazy circles around Zazzalil’s clit, causing her to arch up and for Jemilla to, in response, push her waist down with her hands.

“Patience,” Jemilla breathed hotly into Zazzalil, her chin dipping down so that her nose pushed into her clit and her tongue began to slowly enter her. Zazzalil shuddered, her hands curling the sheets of the bed into her tight fists.

“Oh god,” she moaned, “Jemilla… please, please.” The apparent desperation in the plea sent shivers down Jemilla’s spine, and, without hesitation, she let her tongue dive into Zazzalil.

Zazzalil let out a sharp, inhaled whimper that she cut off abruptly when she bit down on her lip. It was endearing, Jemilla decided as her tongue twisted and a finger soon joined. However, Zazzalil being shy and self-restrained wasn’t what Jemilla necessarily was aiming for and simply just wouldn’t do.

No, Jemilla thought as another finger entered and her mouth shifted focus to her clit. She was going to hear Zazzalil scream.

Jemilla set her fingers at a quicker pace and climbed back up Zazzalil’s body, setting her mouth to work on her nipples, biting and sucking and tracing slow figure eights with her tongue around her breasts. Zazzalil moaned in appreciation, releasing the sheets balled in her fists and tangling her fingers in Jemilla’s hair.

Jemilla smiled. Zazzalil’s skin tasted like some sort of potion she was sure to get hooked on. Intoxicating. Addictive. Under a spell she may be, but Zazzalil was completely at her mercy. Speaking of which, Jemilla decided she had dragged this out for too long. She would end this hard and fast.

Jemilla trailed back down, her teeth scraping lightly against Zazzalil’s skin until she quickly darted her tongue inside along with her fingers, her tongue twisting to the same rhythm that her hand thrusted and fingers curled. 

Zazzalil’s fingers dug tightly into Jemilla’s hair and her back arched up and head was thrown back, mouth opening in a quiet, stuttered gasp. Jemilla worked her without mercy, and Zazzalil cursed.

“Jemilla, I-” Zazzalil began, but words faltered on her tongue. It was fine, Jemilla didn’t need to hear the words to know what was about to happen. She pulled her mouth away and leaned back up and over Zazzalil, trapping her mouth in a kiss as she gave a few rapid thrusts of her hand to the same spot.

Zazzalil’s whimpered gasp was muted into Jemilla’s mouth as her entire body tightened and her nails dug almost painfully into Jemilla’s hair. She was tensed for a few more moments and Jemilla let her fingers work still until she finally went limp, dropping down onto the bed with a long sigh.

Jemilla snickered, lightly kissing Zazzalil’s jaw, listening intently to her steady pants as if they were a sickeningly sweet melody. For a moment, she almost considered dipping her hand back down, just to certify that Zazzalil would be limping the next morning, but Zazz let out a breathy sigh and pulled Jemilla down next to her on the bed.

“Jemilla,” she said as Jemilla pulled her against her chest, her chin resting atop Zazzalil’s head as Zazzalil traced indiscernible patterns into the divot between her collarbones.

“Hmm?” Jemilla hummed in response, kissing the top of Zazzalil’s head. She smiled shyly, chewing her bottom lip.

“I… wow. That was incredible. You are… incredible.”

“And you are a delicacy.”

Slightly taken aback, Zazzalil cleared her throat and blushed, nuzzling further into Jemilla. She paused, then looked up. Their gazes met, and Zazzalil smiled a familiar, cold smile that sent a shiver down Jemilla’s spine.

“Tomorrow, I’m going to fuck you senseless. I hope you know that.”

Jemilla’s mouth went dry, and though she felt heat rise into her cheeks, she kept her composure. “Zazzalil, I don’t think you’re going to be able to _ move _ tomorrow. My treat.” She leaned close to her, kissing her sweetly before whispering in a vaguely cruel tone, “I needed _ some _ way to remind you that you are completely mine.”

“I’ve always been yours.”

Zazzalil sighed contentedly and curled tighter against Jemilla, who wrapped her arms around her and drew her close. They were silent for a moment, contemplating fuzzy memories and dulled regrets, but mostly basking in the warmth of the other.

They were thinking the same thing, whether they knew it or not.

‘I’m going to fall in love with her, aren’t I?’

And though neither admitted to it, even to themselves, they both knew, they had probably fallen long ago.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed. You’re not obliged to leave a comment or a kudos or something because I get that some people get embarrassed sometimes because it’s smut and that’s totally understandable. If you do, wow go you what a trooper. We salute.


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